


The Importance of Memory

by kennedygailparker



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lovers to Friends to Something, One Shot, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 07:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20690030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kennedygailparker/pseuds/kennedygailparker
Summary: One-shot. C.J. returns from a trip to find a stack of messages from her confused father. In trying to make sense of them, she discovers a shared tradition between her father and Toby.





	The Importance of Memory

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Yesterday, I went down the #toby x CJ rabbit hole on Tumblr. During my journey I saw a comment that said "I accidentally started shipping toby and cj and I think i'm going to die". That pretty much explains my West Wing journey. I finished my first watch through a couple weeks ago. I was particularly impacted by the conversations Toby and C.J. have concerning her father's Alzheimer's. This little one-shot takes place sometime before "The Long Good-Bye". I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> If you have questions, or comments please drop me a note at the end! If you want more, let me know what you want to see next.
> 
> P.S. I am looking for prompts, recommendations, and betas, if you’re interested you can drop me a line at my tumblr seekennedywrite. 
> 
> Disclaimer: They are not mine (though I wish they were). The West Wing, it's stories, dialogue, and characters belong to its wonderful creators and related companies

**_The Importance of Memory_**

C.J. smiled as Toby entered her office but it was tight around the edges. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot. It had taken Toby years to learn her tells but once he had, awareness of them had become as ingrained in him as breathing.

“C.J.?” Toby asked, “The president said the trip went well. Did something happen?”

When C.J. didn’t answer, he threw a glance toward her open office door and eased it closed.

“Jeanie?”

C.J. waved a hand absently and sucked in a breath through her teeth. “No. The trip was fine. It’s - Jack just told me Dad called about 19 times. Told them this was the number I gave him,” C.J. let out a shaky exhale, “He never called my cell phone. Probably didn’t even occur to him.” A tinge of frustration coated the panic in her voice.

“If it had been serious -” C.J. pressed a hand over her eyes and rubbed at her temples.

“Carol -”

“Carol wasn’t-”

“_Someone_,” Toby corrected, “would’ve gotten ahold of you.”

C.J. nodded but there wasn’t much relief in it.

Toby knew someone _having_ to get ahold of her was part of the problem. C.J. had always been self-sacrificing. His own marriage was a result of her tendency to sacrifice her wants, her _needs_, for other people’s happiness. It had transformed from a personality trait to a compulsive habit now that they were in the White House. Opening up to other people about her father would take focus away from the dozens of issues they dealt with each day. C.J. would never allow that.

Carol knew only what she needed to and only then because of circumstance.

Toby was the one on the inside.

C.J.’s hair moved to shield her face as she studied her shoes, “he gets confused sometimes.”

“I know.”

C.J. studied Toby for a moment before making eye contact. He stood in front of her couch, his hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn’t going to offer her a hug or tug her to sit beside him. He knew her well enough to give her space. It was a knowledge she appreciated and a turn on more days than not, if she was being honest.

“He told them,” C.J. said, “he wanted to speak to my boyfriend -”

“Concannon? That was serious?” Toby questioned, both laughter and irritation in his voice.

C.J. quirked a brow. Her eyes danced as she looked at him but there was still sadness buried in her gaze, “No,” she said dryly, “Danny is irish-catholic. Tal called to talk with my _boyfriend,” _she said carefully, “about Passover. Said it had been a tradition for-”

“8 years.” Toby said to his shoes.

“You never told me. I didn’t know,” her hands toyed with her necklace, “I mean of course he liked you. Of course. The only man I’ve brought home that he ever considered to be-”

C.J. pushed her hair behind her ear and turned to face him, “you didn’t tell me. I would have- You were married -”

Toby ran a hand over his head, “I appreciate it.” 

He was silent but not still. It was what he did when he tried to figure out what to say. He rubbed his forehead, smoothed his shirt, and scratched a hand over his beard. C.J. was used to waiting him out. She leaned against her desk, careful to miss Gail’s fishbowl, and settled in.

Toby had never made a habit of fiddling with his wedding ring. He saw other men do it and recognized it as a sign of weakness. It shouted a lack of commitment and acted as an indication of _doubt_. Toby didn’t like being so obvious with his own.

He studied it now.

People thought he wore the ring because he was still devoted to Andy, the way widowers were devoted to their late wives, or because he and Andy planned to get back together as if they were working out their differences.

The ring served as a reminder of his failure. It was a totem that encouraged self-reflection, reminding him to follow his gut over his heart. It reminded him to let the demons in his brain shout down his attempts to be something he wasn’t. He loved Andy, then and often, but as much as he wanted to be the man Andy had imagined he could be, he wasn’t capable of playing the role.

The love of his life, wasn’t the woman he’d married. He had long since come to terms with that.

“Andy never observed with me,” Toby said finally, “My father -” Toby rubbed his forehead, “It was - I appreciated that someone was interested.”

“Passover isn’t for months. You haven’t been -” C.J. trailed off quietly, “That’s how you knew. When I told you last year that he wasn’t doing well. You already knew.”

“He called me four times that year.”

“Toby-” C.J. said with a catch in her voice. She flailed her hand in the air a little, a lost gesture.

“I’d like to return the call.”

C.J. nodded, “yeah.” her voice was soft and warm. Later she would have to talk with him, figure out what it all meant. Right now she was content to let the moment play out, to bask in the warmth such a selfless gesture gave her.

Toby shrugged toward her desk. C.J. nodded an affirmative with a smile and picked up the phone.

Toby stopped her. His calloused fingers were gentle on top of her own. He selected the numbers himself from memory. C.J. wondered how many times Tal and Toby talked. Was it just Passover? Surely not. They weren’t men that did things half way. Did Toby call her father on Christmas? Were there other holidays? Birthdays? Did Tal ever call to wish them an anniversary that they’d never even reached? The memories this man, her friend, had suffered for her - his sacrifice, almost overwhelmed her.

Her leg pressed against his side as he settled in beside her at the desk. Toby let his hand drop to the inside of her thigh and curled his hand around her knee. The smile he gave her was warm and slow. It was a look she hadn’t seen on him in a while. He was satisfied. Warmth rushed through C.J. leaving tingles like goose pimples in its wake. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, where it rested against her knee, and squeezed. It was intimate, their hands woven together between her legs. It was the type of intimacy that would’ve meant too much or nothing with other men. But with this man, this man who had loved her at least once, who walked down a memory lane filled with land mines each Passover with her father, it was intoxicatingly comfortable.

“Tal? It’s Toby Ziegler. I heard you called. I was out of the office.”

The phone call had gone on long past twenty minutes but Toby still stood there, pressed against her side. One hand was shoved in his pocket while the other rested against her leg. His thumb traced a distracting pattern on the side of her knee. He chuckled at something Tal said and held the phone against his chest, muffling the receiver.

“He wants to know if things were serious with Concannon?” Toby asked dryly.

C.J. rolled her eyes, “he doesn’t. Feel free to tell him they’re serious with Andy.” She quipped.

Toby’s eyes widened, “They’re not,” Toby said seriously, “not anymore.”

C.J.’s brow rose in surprise. Talking with Toby often felt like playing poker. Only she never knew what the stakes were. He had just shown her his hand. 

“Things aren’t serious with Danny,” C.J. said softly.

The vulnerability was worth it for the grin that spread across his face.

“He does want me to pass on a hello.”

C.J. felt tears well in her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. Her trip with the president to Montana had been in and out but exhausting. Arriving back to work to find a mess of memos and paperwork on her desk, a note from the guy that had taken the editor job on the _Washington Post_, and 19 messages from her father had been the cherry on top of a draining day.

She pressed a hand to her mouth and swallowed past the emotions in her throat, “I’ll call him tomorrow,” she whispered, her voice rough.

Toby nodded. He didn’t push her; there was no judgement in his expression. His ability to take her at face value was something she often forgot to appreciate. Being in the press room all the time with a sea of reporters who parsed every sigh or cough made her all the more appreciative of Toby’s ability to set his need for answers aside when she needed him to.

“She just got in, Tal. Can I have her call you tomorrow. Yeah, I’ll pass on your love,” Toby said softly, “Always a pleasure sir.”

Toby set the phone back in its cradle and studied her for a long moment. His eyes roamed deliberately from the tight set of her shoulders to her bare feet, hiding behind the heels she’d just kicked off. His gaze was always heavy and hot like a brand. For a moment, C.J. thought he may kiss her. Instead he laced his fingers through her own and gave her hand a slow squeeze.

“Let’s get you home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think - comments and prompts appreciated. Tumblr - seekennedywrite


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